


The Prince Of Leaves And Deep Water

by RayShippouUchiha



Series: Whirlpool Calls Him Home [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Abandonment, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animalistic Traits, Anxiety, BAMF Hatake Kakashi, BAMF Uzumaki Naruto, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abandonment, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Everyone Needs A Hug, Feral Behavior, Found Family, Fuuinjutsu Master Uzumaki Naruto, Genderfluid Character, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kishimoto I Just Want To Talk, Loneliness, M/M, Missing-Nin, Naruto Is His Mother's Son, Naruto leaves Konoha, No Pedophilia, POV Alternating, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Hatake Kakashi, Pre-Shippuden, Protective Hatake Kakashi, Protective Hoshigake Kisame, Rebuilt Uzushiogakure | Hidden Eddy Village, Smart Uzumaki Naruto, Timeline What Timeline, Uzumaki Feels, Uzumaki Lore, Uzushio Feels, Uzushiogakure | Hidden Eddy Village, We Take Canon Out Back And Put It Out Of Our Misery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayShippouUchiha/pseuds/RayShippouUchiha
Summary: ‘Protect him,’ Kushina prays in the quiet of her own mind as she leaves; pleading silently to the old spirits from her childhood, to the things that the Uzumaki Elders used to whisper about in hushed tones.‘Love him,’ Kushina begs of the things she only knows from instinct and half remembered stories, those things filled with the power of salt and sun and deep deep waters.  Those things that live and thrive in the heart and soul of every Uzumaki who has ever breathed and battled and bled.  'Guide him, keep him safe for always.  But love him most of all. My little prince of eddies and leaves.’Left behind, left alone and cold where before there was only a soft sort of warmth and a steady kind of safety, Narutowails.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Uzumaki Naruto
Series: Whirlpool Calls Him Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689664
Comments: 356
Kudos: 2837
Collections: A Collection of Beloved Inserts, Best Across Fandoms, Extraordinary Naruto FanFics, Storycatchers Best of Naruto pile





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stormborn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877970) by [blackkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat). 



Kushina’s son is _quiet_ when he’s born.

He’s red faced and blue eyed and golden haired and _silent_.

Kushina stares down at him, stares down at her precious little maelstrom who is made up of all of the colors that have come to define her life, and all she can do is _ache_.

The night is thick with violence, the scent of blood so heavy in the air that she can practically taste it. A tsunami of corrosive crimson power bubbles and boils in the distance, threatening to burn Kushina down to her _soul_ despite the space between them.

She can hear the fighting taking place just outside, the walls doing nothing to muffle the noise.

And, even above the roar of battle, Kushina can hear the _screaming_.

Innocent villagers crying out for salvation. Jōnin calling out orders to their squads. The roar of jutsu firing to life and the desperate attempts to herd civilians away from the worst of the danger. The agonizing wailing that rings out when someone fails.

Kushina can hear it, can hear _them_ , all.

But, worst of all, is the fact that Kushina can _feel_ them too.

The faint impressions of the civilians mixing with the surging chakra waves of a nation’s worth of shinobi, all of them desperate and determined and oh so _afraid_ , lick at her senses.

The senses that were hers by birth and then by right of succession tell her one undeniable truth:

_The people of Konoha are dying._

Kushina can feel the lights of their souls being snuffed out one by one or group by group beneath the oppressive force that is the Kyūbi’s chakra, like candle flames forced to stand in the face of a hurricane.

It all washes over her like the tide, threatens to pull her down like an undertow, but Kushina doesn’t look up.

She doesn’t allow herself to take her eyes off of _her son_ for even a moment.

Before this moment Kushina had always assumed she knew grief.

She is, after all, a daughter of a dead Clan, is a remnant of a people and a way of life eradicated simply for the crime of being _strong_. She has lost comrades and friends and an entire village worth of shared blood.

Grief is an old companion of hers, a ghost she’s never been able to truly leave behind.

But _this_?

The agony of the grief welling up in her heart right now is like _nothing_ she’s ever felt before.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. _None_ of it was supposed to be like _this_.

 _They were supposed to be happy_.

“My little prince of eddies and tides,” Kushina murmurs as she stares down at her baby, tears dripping down her face to land like raindrops or sea spray on the sweet curve of his whiskered cheek, “Mama’s little storm. _I’m so sorry_.”

Her boy just blinks up at her with eyes already so blue they make some small, _young_ part of her ache for waters she hasn’t seen in years.

For the home she'd forcefully buried in her memories like she wasn’t able to do in life. For the place and the people she'd set aside out of necessity but was never able to actually forget.

Not in any of the ways that have ever counted.

“ _Kushina_ ,” Minato’s there then, appearing at her bedside in a flash of gold and chakra that will always remind Kushina of the sea-storm winds of her childhood.

Kushina’s never told him, has only ever told Mikoto in confidence, but the feel of Minato’s chakra and the bright, ocean sun gold of his hair are the two things she fell in love with about him first. 

“ _Look at him,_ ” Minato breathes the words out, eyes bright with equal measures of love and agony as he trails one calloused fingertip down Naruto’s now damp cheek. He touches their son with an exquisite sort of gentle reverence. In that moment Kushina thinks that she’s never loved him more. “Look at what you made. He’s _beautiful_. My son. _Our son_. Our little bud finally bloomed. It’s so good to finally meet you, _Naruto_.”

The sound of _that name_ , the one they’d laughed over, the one they’d teased Jiraiya over, the one from the novel they’d planned to read to their baby as a bedtime story, is enough to fracture Kushina just a bit.

Her son’s name being released into the danger of air that drips of violence and _death_ shakes Kushina just enough that she can’t help but feel as if she’s being eaten away at her edges. That agonizing grief and a deep seated sort of _rage_ stealing slices and grains of her away like a tsunami breaking heavy and fast against a sandy shore.

“ _Minato_ ,” Kushina half sobs, unable to stop the way she hunches forwards just a bit, her arms curling tighter around _her baby_. Like she can somehow shield him from what’s to come with her body alone. “Minato we _can’t_ …”

“ _We have to_ ,” Minato grits out, eyes shining with determination and a monstrous sort of grief that echoes her own all at the same time. “The _village_.”

“They’ll be cruel to him, Minato,” Kushina insists brokenly, _viciously_ , a half feral sort of thing rising up inside of her to sink gnawing fangs into the wet, red muscle of her heart. “My baby. _Our son._ They’ll be so _cruel_.”

Kushina’s body and soul are emptier than either has been in _years_ and yet she’s never felt more like an animal than in this moment. Has never felt more cornered and desperate and ready to _bite_. Because those words feel like a _promise_.

Or, worse yet, like _premonition_.

“No,” Minato refutes softly, voice as certain and strong as the hands that reach out to cradle her face. “ _No_. They’ll love him like the hero he will be, like the hero he already is, Kushina. But this has to be done now, my love. You know that.”

“ _Minato_ ,” Kushina pleads softly, desperate for him to _understand_. “We can’t do this. Not to him.”

“I don’t want this for him either but you know it was always going to be his burden to carry one day. Even if this is far sooner than we ever thought. But he’ll have a good life,” Minato leans forward and down enough to press slightly dry lips to her forehead, one of his hands sliding upwards to bury itself in the fall of her hair. “I promise you, Kushina, with everything I have, everything I am. No matter what, his life will be _good_.”

“ _How do you know?_ ” Kushina half demands, half begs because something inside of her won’t stop rebelling against the very _idea_ even though she knows Minato is telling the truth. As an Uzumaki by blood the weight of what she’s carried for so long now was always going to pass to Naruto one day. But, as Minato had said, not now and not like _this_. _Never like this_. “He's just a _baby_ , Minato and you know how Jinchūriki are treated …”

“Not here,” Minato denies fiercely, belief echoing in every syllable. “Not in _Konoha_. He’ll be _loved_. Like you are, like Mito-sama was. And no matter what happens, even if the worst comes to pass, Sensei will be here for him, to guide and teach him. Kakashi-kun will protect him along with our other comrades and friends. He’ll even have Mikoto-chan and her children. He won’t be alone, Kushina, and they won’t abandon him. _I know it._ Not our boy, our _legacy_. Jinchūriki or not, Naruto will be happy because Konoha is _different_. You just have to have _faith_.”

Staring up at her husband, Kushina feels her misgivings, that soul deep _fear_ that’s been eating at her since all of this started, begin to weaken just a bit in the face of his earnestness. Just like he always seems to do, Minato makes Kushina believe that, somehow and despite all the odds, everything will be alright.

“So please, will you trust me?” Minato asks her then, eyes wide and imploring. “Trust our home and our people?”

And, in the end, Kushina _loves_ Minato just as she loves their precious Naruto. Loves both of them with all of the ferocious power that only a true born Uzumaki can muster. Loves them with a strength that Kushina’s sure could part seas and move _mountains_ if pressed.

So the fear and feral sort of desperation in her heart don’t disappear _but_ …

Kushina also loves Konoha.

It’s the only home she has left these days. It’s been her home longer now than the land of her birth ever was despite how much a part of her still aches over what was lost, what was _stolen_.

Konoha is where Kushina grew into the woman, the shinobi, that she is today. It’s where she found friends and comrades and, most importantly of all, it’s where she found _love_.

It’s where, in turn, her little maelstrom will grow and learn and _be_.

So, with those truths in mind, all Kushina can really do is _get up_.

Fresh from the birthing bed Kushina puts down her son and, ignoring how her arms _ache_ to have him back, reaches up to tighten her headband instead.

Then, with Minato’s faith and her own whirling sort of love surging in her heart, Kushina steps away from the place, the _person_ , every bit of her longs to stay with.

Instead she goes to do her part, her duty, at her husband’s side.

For the sake of the village and its people.

For the sake of everything precious she has in this world.

 _‘Protect him,’_ Kushina prays in the quiet of her own mind as she leaves; pleading silently to the old spirits from her childhood, to the things that the Uzumaki Elders used to whisper about in hushed tones.

 _‘Love him,’_ Kushina begs of the things she only knows from instinct and half remembered stories, those things filled with the power of salt and sun and deep deep waters. Those things that live and thrive in the heart and soul of every Uzumaki who has ever breathed and battled and bled. _'Guide him, keep him safe for always. But love him most of all. My little prince of eddies and leaves.’_

Left behind, left alone and cold where before there was only a soft sort of warmth and a steady kind of safety, Naruto _wails_.

~~~

_Here is the truth:_

The faith and love of the dead only reach so far beyond the grave.

It is up to the living to compensate for the difference.

~~~

_Here is the secret:_

More often than not, the living fall far too short of the mark.

~~~

_Here is the tragedy:_

Minato’s faith has often been stronger than the things, the _people_ , in which he’s placed it.

Kushina’s love has always been as unstoppable as the sea and often twice as blind.

~~~

_Here is the consequence:_

Naruto’s life is … _sharp_.

It’s the only way he can think to describe it.

The only word he knows that sounds and feels _right_.

His entire life is broken down into sharp mirror-like pieces.

Each fragment jagged and vicious around the edges.

Sharp enough to cut bloodless but _deep_.

There’s the sharp sting of the matron’s slap against his cheek. The sharp tug on his hair as she yanks at it with cruel hands and hacks away at it with dull scissors until only messy, uneven golden spikes are left.

There’s the sharp bite of hunger curling in his stomach, and his _heart,_ day after day and night after night.

There’s the sharp slice on his soul every time someone screams or glares or _spits_ in his direction. Punishment for a crime Naruto has never been able to remember committing.

There’s the sharp copper taste of blood in his mouth and the way he chokes on it when he’s caught trying to sneak his way through the outskirts of the village festival. It’s a riot of loud laughter and bright colors and Naruto had just discovered that today is his _birthday_ and he knows that's supposed to be _special_ so Naruto just _wants_.

Naruto is a boy made up of kunai edges and senbon points who lives a life composed of shattered porcelain and razor edged hunger.

Whenever he tries to reach out and touch anything, _anyone_ , all he gets are gashes, ragged edge cuts and seeping wounds.

Naruto is young and alone so he learns quickly from all of those attempts. Learns the brutal consequences first hand.

And that should mean he knows better by now than to keep reaching out over and over again.

He should be wary and cautious and unwilling to even try.

But ...

 _Well_.

Despite everything, despite the hurt of it all, Naruto has always been more _love_ than _boy_.

And so he bleeds and he _bleeds_ and in the end it’s all just …

 _Sharpness_.

~~~

All the while something lurks in the back of Naruto’s mind.

Churns away, out of sight and sense, in the corners of his soul.

Fed by a familiar blood and a vicious pain it builds and builds in strength while hidden deep inside the bony cage of his skull.

A whirlpool spinning ever tighter with every passing, agonizing, moment.

A maelstrom gaining strength with every ragged breath.

~~~

Konoha should have held Naruto tightly, should have loved and _protected_ him, this prince of leaves and deep water.

And _yet_ …


	2. Naruto

Naruto’s two years on his own now, two years out of the orphanage and away from the matron’s cruel, clawing hands. 

Two years of learning to take care of everything himself. Two years of too little money and too little food, of tea kettle burns and too cold showers. Two years of standing on a rickety stool to draw tiny, shaky x’s on the calendar each morning to help him keep track of time just like the Old Man told him to.

Two years of living alone in a place where, sometimes, Naruto thinks that the silence rings louder and the emptiness cuts _sharper_ than any blow he’s ever been dealt before.

Naruto is young but he’s _tired_. He’s exhausted down to his bones and _hungry_ in ways he can’t seem to ever fix no matter how hard he tries.

Hungry in a way that neither ramen nor curling up in the calm darkness beneath his bed nor running in the sunlight, Naruto’s usual go to solutions for almost everything, ever seem to touch.

Naruto is tied and hungry and he just _wants_ …

Breath hitching on a quickly bitten down sob, Naruto tightens the fingers of his good hand around the rope of the tree swing. He does his best not to whine in pain at the feel of his other fingers snapping back into alignment. Matron had never liked hearing his tears and not even two years free from her sharp nailed grip is long enough for him to unlearn that lesson.

So even though it _hurts_ , a sharp burning sensation like when he slips on his un-steady stool and his hands or arms end up pressed against the hot coils of the stove, Naruto does his best to push through the pain of healing.

Pain is, Naruto knows by now, a huge part of learning.

And as all of his sensei keep telling him, Naruto just needs a lot more of both to get better, to stop being so far behind everyone else.

Especially since Keiko-sensei’s lessons always seem to hurt Naruto more than anyone else in the class. Even on the rare occasions when Naruto _knows_ he’s done something right, knows he’s followed instructions _perfectly_ , he still seems to end up like he is right now.

Alone and hurt and so _tired_ of being both for all that he’s never really known anything else.

Naruto had hoped and dreamed that the Academy would be _softer_ somehow. That the place where the Old Man said he’s supposed to make friends and learn to be a _proud shinobi of Konoha_ , would be different from the orphanage or the village itself but …

 _Well_.

It, like most other things in Naruto’s life, is just ... more _sharpness_.

A part of him wants to scream and cry about how unfair it is. Wants to howl his hurt and confusion to the entire village until someone, _anyone_ , explains to him just what he ever did to make everyone hate him so much.

But the rest of him? The other parts that _know better_? The jagged edged slivers of Naruto that are left curled up beneath the confusion and the _hurt_?

All those small, wounded pieces of Naruto _want_ is _.._.

“ _Home_ ,” Naruto whispers to the falling rain, head tilted back and eyes wide and unseeing. “ _I wanna go home_.”

Naruto’s heart _aches_ for something he can’t quite describe. Something deep inside of him _yearns_ for a place and a people and a feeling he’s never actually seen or known or _felt_.

Something inside of him calls out for things that he doesn’t know how to describe, for things he doesn’t have a real name for.

 _Home_ is the best word Naruto can think to describe the focus of that pounding, churning, _aching_ sort of longing that lives inside of him.

“ _Please_ ,” Naruto whispers his plea, his unintended prayer of sorts, to the wind and the rain and the deep green leaves. They are, he knows with a solemn sort of certainty, the only things that might actually listen to him. _“Someone take me home.”_

There’s a moment’s silence.

Raindrops slip down between the leaves of the tree above him, washing his tears away like the echo of a comforting touch that Naruto has no memory of ever knowing.

Then, as if in answer, the wind suddenly _surges_.

The swing rocks, the branches of the tree supporting it rustle and sway harshly.

But, despite how loudly the tree groans, the sudden gust wraps around Naruto almost gently as it seems to steal the words from the air around him.

Naruto’s breath catches in his chest then because, for some reason, it feels almost like a _caress_.

It feels like someone running playful fingers over his thick, rain heavy hair and across the sensitive lines of his whisker marks. Like a gentle, loving sort of teasing.

Things he’s dreamt of and longed for but never really _felt_.

There, in the middle of that small whirlwind, the thick, almost tangible silence, seems to rapidly grow as the world suddenly dampens down around Naruto.

Nestled in that cocoon of heavy silence, Naruto hears the voice for the first time.

 _‘Then come home,'_ something or someone, a voice that Naruto’s never heard before, whispers to him, the words carried to his ears on the wind itself.

“ _Who’s there?_ ” Naruto yelps, startling so hard and fast that he pitches forward off of the swing and down into the grass and mud at the base of the tree.

 _‘Come home, spiral,’_ that same voice whispers again. _‘Little storm.'_

The voice sounds _close_ , the words curling themselves into Naruto’s ears like a murmur pressed just against the shell.

And for Naruto, who hasn’t had much in the way of positive experiences with people being close to him, that’s absolutely _terrifying_.

But when he scrambles around, now healed hand tearing at the grass beneath him as he practically throws himself around and back, all Naruto sees is open air.

There’s no one there.

Naruto is, as he always is, _alone_.

It makes something tense and coiled inside of him relax just a bit.

 _‘Come home, little spiral,’_ the voice croons again, tone soft and sweet then, like a sigh brushed lovingly against his temple.

It sounds unlike anyone or anything Naruto’s ever heard. Sounds like a thousand overlapping voices mixed together. Sounds like the crashing of a wave against a shore that Naruto has never seen but somehow _knows_ anyways.

Naruto feels fresh tears prickle at the corners of his eyes for a reason he can’t quite name.

 _‘Come home,’_ the voice says again, tone beckoning.

But this time, drawn in by that gentleness, by that in-explainable sense of _knowing_ , Naruto can’t help but really _listen_.

‘ _Come home,'_ it almost seems to sing, the words somehow feeling like one part plea and one part offer. ‘ _Tiny maelstrom, come break upon shores that will cradle you, upon sands and stone that love you.’_

Naruto’s breath catches in his chest, his heart thumping loud and hard like it’s threatening to break its way out.

All of his attention is caught by that one word, that one idea.

 _Love_.

That’s what the voice had said.

_The sands and stone that love you._

Love _him_.

Fresh tears spill over then, tracking down Naruto’s cheeks in two steady rivers of salt and sorrow as a grief he can’t quite contain surges upwards and out.

 _Love_.

That’s it.

That’s what he’s always wanted.

And now he’s hearing it not from a friend or a sensei or some long lost family member finally come to claim him.

Instead he’s hearing it from a voice on the wind that he can’t see.

It’s not _fair_.

Naruto presses both hands against his mouth, uncaring of the mud and the grass that cling to them. It’s all he can do to keep the sharp, wailing keen he can feel building up in his throat from slipping out.

 _‘Come home,’_ the voice sings again as the wind rushes forwards, ruffling his hair even more and pressing itself through his fingers and against his face like a physical touch. ‘ _Little prince, come home to the reefs and the waves that have been waiting for you. Always for you._ ** _Come home_** _.’_

Each word feels as if it’s been pressed down and into his soul, seeping into the cracks and corners of his heart like warm salt water. Washing over him like a gentle, tugging wave.

For a moment, huddled in the grass and the mud wearing too thin clothes over his too thin body and almost cradled by the wind and the rain, Naruto can’t _breathe_.

Because Naruto’s lungs are filled with what he _knows_ is sea-salt air and his heart feels as if it’s no longer really beating. Instead it feels as if there’s a whirlpool in his chest where his heart used to be. Like there’s an entire ocean there instead, ebbing and flowing within his body and soul like a wave against a shore Naruto longs to see.

Then, between one second and the next, as quickly as it had appeared, it’s _gone_.

Naruto sucks in a deep breath, lungs heaving like he’s surfacing from deep beneath the water.

His head feels _full_ , feels stuffed and straining at the seams with a jumbled mix of intrigue and panic.

Intrigue because he’s never felt like that before, wanted and warm and so completely _accepted_.

Panic because he’s young and he’s tired and all he wants is _softness_ , is love and warmth and _care_ , but Naruto’s never even _thought_ of something like that before.

 _Of leaving_.

The very idea of it, of leaving Konoha behind, frightens Naruto, _terrifies_ him down to the core.

The village with its jewel green leaves and red hot glares is all that Naruto has ever known. The sharpness it gives him is all that Naruto really has in the world no matter how he wishes otherwise.

That makes it all seem too large to even think about. Makes it seem like such an impossibly huge thing to even consider, leaving this too sharp village that _hates_ him behind.

It feels almost like a betrayal of some kind too, the very thought of leaving the leaves and trees that birthed him. Abandoning the alleys and dark corners that have raised him so far.

For as long as he can remember all Naruto has ever had was this place, these people. This hurt.

Life outside of these familiar walls doesn’t seem real. Doesn’t seem possible.

Would he even still be _Naruto_ in a different place or with different people who don’t hate him?

It feels too big and too scary and he doesn’t want to even _think_ about it.

And _yet_ …

The rain falls harder, the wind sways the trees and the whisper grows _louder_.

Naruto breathes in a deep, ragged breath.

For a split second all he can taste is sea-salt on the back of his tongue.

And Naruto … Naruto just _yearns_.

~~~

Naruto goes home, back to the thick silence of his small apartment.

He strips out of his soaked clothes, half-heartedly wipes the still wet mud from his skin, and then crawls beneath his ragged blankets.

For the longest time he lays there, staring unseeingly at the cracks in the plaster of the wall beside his bed.

Even when his pillow grows damp with fresh tears Naruto doesn’t move.

Eventually he sleeps.

And then ...

Then Naruto _dreams_.

~~~

_Laughter floats across the air, mixing with the crash of waves and the cries of the great gulls in the distance to form a music all its own._

_Naruto, eyes closed and face turned up towards the bright shine of the sea-sun, brings a hand up to tuck a braid behind his ear. Beneath his feet the ocean ebbs and flows, playful waves tugging at his toes, eating away at the pink sand and then rushing it back to bury his bare feet just a bit deeper._

_This place, his home, adores him, wants him to never leave._

_Clings to him at every opportunity._

_This place loves him._

_And Naruto loves it back with everything that he is._

_“Naruto,” a voice, tone warm and achingly familiar calls his name._

_Naruto feels delight and something fierce and hot burst to life in his chest. He turns, a wild grin on his face and a name on his lips, towards the person who holds the other half of his heart._

_Towards ..._

~~~

Naruto wakes _sobbing_.

Wakes with the taste of salt in his mouth, the memory of the sea-sun on his skin, and delighted laughter ringing in his ears.

He wakes with the ghost of a love he’s never felt echoing in his heart.

Naruto wakes and for a too long moment can’t help but wish he’d stayed asleep.

Just for a minute, a day, a _lifetime_ longer.

Anything, _everything_ , to hold onto those feelings.

That warm sort of peace.

 _‘Come home,’_ the whisper seems to sigh, a small breeze fluttering in through the cracked glass of Naruto’s window. _‘Come home tiny spiral. Come home.’_

And, sitting alone on his tiny bed in his lonely apartment, all Naruto can do is _ache_.

~~~

Naruto’s attention is drawn east these days.

Always east.

Because …

Konoha is _sharp_.

All Naruto wants is somewhere warm and soft and _welcoming_.

And something to the east _sings_.

~~~

The Academy says they’re all leaves of the great tree that is Konoha.

The sensei say that it’s their duty, their _honor_ , to live and fight and to one day even _die_ for the village. That a leaf’s duty is to sacrifice for the branch, the bough, the trunk and roots.

Naruto sighs, turns his eyes towards the east and his face into a sun-salt-sea breeze that isn’t really there.

He thinks he’d rather be a wave, would rather be a spiral or a maelstrom.

Would rather be a _whirlpool_.

~~~

Naruto dreams about sunlight and waves. About flashes of brightly colored fish beneath the surface of water so clear it looks like glass.

He dreams of pink sand and red coral and golden sunlight glinting off of a blue blue _blue_ ocean.

And best, or perhaps worst, of all, Naruto dreams about _love_.

~~~

Naruto wakes up with the taste of salt water on his lips and the feel of sea-sun on his skin and a heartbreak almost too big for him to feel churning in his chest.

Naruto wakes up and he _wails_ for a place he’s never seen.

A love he’s never felt.

A home he’s never known.

~~~

The Academy gets _harder_.

The lessons hurt him in body and in soul.

There’s the way the sensei stare, glares hot and sneers not so hidden.

There’s the way that Naruto can feel their dislike in the air around them like a physical touch, like claws raking down his spine, sharp and vicious against his skin.

Then there’s the way the other students _laugh_ when he inevitably fails.

Because Naruto _always_ seems to fail.

His reading isn't good enough, his hits aren’t hard enough, his aim is off, his hands and feet don’t move fast enough. His fingers don’t twist into the correct shapes no matter how many times Keiko-sensei hits them with the ruler.

And when Naruto pulls on his chakra to try and perform a jutsu an untameable _ocean_ always answers him.

Nothing ever goes right, not really.

So Naruto works and works and _works_.

He bleeds and he cries and he tries so _hard_.

But it’s never enough.

 _Naruto_ is never enough.

~~~

 _‘Breathe little spiral, ebb and flow,’_ the voice tells him one night. He’s alone by the river bank, bare feet dangling off of the pier as he practices his hand signs, trying to get them right, trying to get _something_ right for once.

The laughter from his class, from his sensei, so different from the laughter in his dreams, is still ringing in his ears.

Unable, or maybe unwilling, to shut the voice out when he’s so _hungry_ , Naruto turns his face up towards the night sky and does his best to breathe.

 _‘Feel life, be life,’_ the voice sings as the river water wraps itself around his ankles and tugs just a bit. _‘Be, little prince. Be water. Be wind. Be blood and bone. Just be, be, be. Then come home, home, home.’_

And Naruto, knuckles swollen purple but already healing and _heart_ fractured right down the center, finally _listens_.

~~~

Later, wind ruffling his hair, water tangling between his fingers, and joy lighting him up inside like the sun rising over the sea, Naruto laughs and laughs and _laughs_.

And, in the back of his mind and in the very air around him, the voice _sings back in welcome_.

~~~

Naruto knows things now that go against the way the Academy teaches them but still, somehow, _work_.

He knows things that he doesn’t always remember learning.

Because, sometimes, Naruto sleeps and he _dreams._

He dreams of a too blue sea, of pink sands and the golden sun. Of white stone and red roof tops. Of gale force winds and whirling tides.

And always, _always_ , Naruto dreams of the merciless, loving, beauty of the sea.

When he wakes it’s with _knowing_ crystallizing in his heart and mind like lightning striking sand.

Wind and water come to Naruto now as easily as breathing.

As if they were always there, just waiting for him to call.

The voice, Naruto knows, has given that to him.

So at night when the walls of his apartment close in on him, or during the day when the sneers of the village do the same, Naruto can’t help but wonder …

What else could he learn, could he find, if he just _listened_?

If he just ...

Naruto thinks it should still feel like betrayal, these thoughts he’s begun to have.

But then …

Konoha is so _sharp_.

And Naruto is so _tired_.

He wants to feel the sea-salt wind against his face for real.

Wants to feel the golden warmth of the sea-sun glinting off blue _blue blue_ waves.

Wants to feel the push-pull of the hungry tide as it eats at the pink sand beneath his feet.

Naruto wants…

Naruto _wants_ …

~~~

Naruto wants to go _home_.

~~~

 _‘Little spiral,’_ the voice croons in the dark of the night, in the shadows of his dreams, on the edge of every breeze and in the rush of every river. _‘Little prince, tiny storm, my own, my very very own. Come home. Come home. Come home.’_

~~~

Beneath Naruto’s skin and behind his eyes, curled down in the center of his very soul, something ancient yawns itself awake.

 _‘Interesting,’_ a creature that has felled _mountains_ whispers into the depths of a mind just beginning to change.

It watches as the sea eats away at metal walls and rusted pipes.

Watches as pink sand blossoms into being, as vibrant coral and flashing fish begin to appear beneath water so clear it could be glass.

Kurama, trapped and chained and so far unacknowledged by its host, watches as a sewer, dank and lonely and in a constant state of disrepair, slowly becomes something _more_.

~~~

_Here is the question:_

What is the strength of a tree when compared to the unyielding might of the sea?

~~~

_Here is the answer:_

Leaves wither, branches break, and roots blacken.

Trees _die_.

Oceans?

Oceans _endure_.

~~~

Everything Naruto owns fits into a single bag.

Naruto finds that out one afternoon after class when he can still taste the blood in his mouth.

He doesn’t really realize what he’s doing until he’s standing in his kitchen attempting to put his last few cups of instant ramen into the bag.

Standing there in his ragged little kitchen, watery sunlight slipping in through his dirty windows, Naruto’s face _crumples_.

Dropping his bag, Naruto hits his knees and curls in on himself. His hands come up to tangle in his hair, tugging sharply at thick golden spikes.

Everything Naruto owns fits into a single bag.

Everything he’s ever wanted has always been out of his reach.

Everything else has always just been … _sharp_.

~~~

 _‘Come home, tiny maelstrom,’_ the voice sings sweetly in Naruto’s ear. _‘Come home, come home, come make a home.’_

~~~

Naruto packs and repacks that bag over and over again.

At the end of every bad day.

In the middle of every lonely night.

When the loneliness threatens to drag him even further down, Naruto takes everything he owns and presses it down into his ragged canvas bag.

Then he sits on his cracked apartment floor and just ... _yearns_.

~~~

 _‘Run,’_ the voice croons. _‘Run, run, run home. Little prince, tiny spiral. Come bask in the sun that yearns for you. Sing with the waves that crash for you. Come home, come home, come find your home.’_

~~~

Naruto’s feet _itch_.

His hands _ache_.

His _soul_...

~~~

Naruto has always been more love than boy.

But then …

Fire does not burn without fuel.

Trees do not grow without light.

And as for _love_ ...

Love does not thrive without care.

And all little boys break eventually.

~~~

A storm hits Konoha one day, the wind howling and ripping at tree branches and roofs alike. Lightning cracks across the sky in deafening bursts and the rain comes down in stinging sheets.

It’s vicious enough to send the entire village inside. 

Everyone, that is, except for Naruto.

Crouched in the boughs of one of the trees growing close to the base of Konoha’s great wall, canvas bag in hand, Naruto chews at his bottom lip and takes a moment to look around him.

He’s never been outside of the village before, has never seen outside of those walls. Has never even been _close_ to the entrance to the village, always turned away whenever he got within breathing distance of one of the gates.

For a moment, for a space between heartbeats, Naruto turns his head to stare back out into the forest. For a moment he hesitates, for a moment he feels as if there might just be something there worth waiting for.

And yet ...

 _'_ _Come home,’_ the voice cries out, loud and triumphant like it knows something Naruto has not yet admitted to himself. _‘Run, run, run home. My own, my own, my very own. Come find your home.’_

The walls are so _tall_.

But Naruto …

Naruto has the wind and the rain and the song of something _more_ to guide him.

~~~

_Here is the question:_

What are walls to a maelstrom?

~~~

_Here is the answer:_

Konoha’s walls are tall and _strong_ but they are meant to keep things _out_.

~~~

_Here is the lesson:_

A storm is not a thing to be _caged_.

~~~

Hair shaggy and clothes ragged from months spent moving, _always_ _moving_ , Naruto finally takes a moment to just _be_.

Tired and hungry but as close to content as he can ever remember being, Naruto buries his toes in warm pink sand and turns his face towards the heat of the sea-salt-sun.

 _‘Home,’_ the voice cries in joy as the wind and the water that has led him this far, has protected him and loved him, seems to surge, lapping at his knees and rustling his hair. _‘Home, home, you’ve come home. Little prince of leaves and deep water. Precious spiral. Welcome home.’_

And, as he collapses back to sprawl out on warm, soft pink sand, all Naruto can do is _smile_.


	3. Kakashi

Kakashi is _tired_.

Exhaustion eats at his very bones and blackness creeps in around the edges of his vision with every other breath as consciousness comes and goes with every odd heartbeat.

The only thing keeping him on his feet is some strange mix of training, sheer stubbornness, and the small surge of adrenaline that arcs through his system in tandem with every brutal burst of lightning in the sky above him.

 _‘At least,’_ some part of Kakashi can’t help but muse fuzzily as he’s finally able to make out the tall walls of Konoha in the distance, _‘I’m almost clean now.’_

Because for the first time in _weeks_ he is. The blood and grime of his mission has been almost completely washed away by the rain this monster of a storm has produced.

That alone is almost enough to give Kakashi another much needed energy boost as he presses forward through the wind and the rain, heart beating in time to the rolling thunder, his system surging in tune with each lightning strike.

All around him the storm rages, so strong and brutal that it feels almost alive in its viciousness.

Kakashi doesn’t bother with the closed gates or the chūnin he knows will be on guard there. Instead he aims for the wall itself and hits it at a run, vision greying out but body moving on instinct alone as he scales it in three short hops.

The inefficiency is just further proof of how drained he is at the moment.

He loses time again at the top, body halting for a brief moment as the rain batters at him, the wind howling like a voice in his ears.

Kakashi shakes his head sharply and then tilts forwards, falling more than jumping off of the wall and down towards the trees. He flows from branch to branch, only really aware of every other movement or so that his body makes.

He needs to report in and then he can drag himself back to his apartment and pass out for a few hours.

Hopefully.

About half way through the trees Kakashi falters just a bit, body coming to a swaying stop on a swaying branch.

For a split second, for a moment between breaths, it feels as if he’s not alone in the forest.

It feels as if someone else is out in the storm with him.

Like there’s something or someone settled out there in the trees, hidden just out of his sight and waiting for him to find them.

Kakashi sways, feet shifting and his exhausted, graying mind already starting to refocus in a different direction.

But then the wind surges, the rain somehow comes down even heavier and _sharper_ than before, and Kakashi’s vision grays out again around the edges.

When he comes back to himself enough to turn his head and look deeper into the trees again Kakashi sees _nothing_.

Exhaustion clawing at every corner of him, Kakashi shakes the feeling off as best he can.

He keeps moving.

~~~

_Here is the truth:_

Kakashi is a genius.

Is the type of shinobi that comes once in a generation, if that.

His name is whispered across the Elemental Nations with some mixture of fear and hate but always, _always_ , with at least a sliver of _awe_.

~~~

_Here is the tragedy:_

Kakashi has always been _blind_.

Too busy looking behind to see what is right in front of him until it’s too late.

Until it’s already _gone_.

Slipping between his fingers before he knows to tighten his fist.

Futures ignored for pasts that can never be repaired.

Just like his father before him.

~~~

“Excellent work as always, Inu.” Sarutobi, awake despite the late hour, sighs from behind his desk, pipe held loosely in one hand. “One week of rest and then another of light duty, you’ve more than earned it. Dismissed.”

Kakashi, head bowed and white mask still in place, stays kneeling before his Hokage’s desk, joints locked to keep himself from swaying.

There’s a long moment of silence.

And then Sarutobi sighs, long and drawn out and sounding just as exhausted as Kakashi feels.

“Request denied,” Sarutobi tells him softly, just as he always does. The answer to a question Kakashi hasn’t had to actually ask in years now. “No contact, you know this.”

“Hokage-sama.” Kakashi rasps. He doesn’t outright beg, hasn’t in years now, but ...

“Kakashi-kun,” Sarutobi interrupts, voice gentle even as he breaks protocol with ease. Even as he refuses Kakashi yet again. “Go home.” 

Kakashi, teeth gritted, presses up and onto his feet and heads towards the window.

Sarutobi’s voice stops him just as he moves to step onto the sill so he can slip back outside.

“The boy is fine,” Sarutobi says softly. “He’s safe at home. Let that be enough for now.”

Kakashi doesn't say anything. Instead he slips back out into the storm.

They both know Sarutobi's words for what they are.

A bitter sort of comfort that will _never_ be enough.

Not truly.

~~~

Despite living in the opposite direction Kakashi’s route home takes him past a crumbling apartment building that sits, squat and shabby, just on the outskirts of the Lotus District.

The weak glow of a lone lamp illuminates one specific window.

A dim sort of reassurance.

~~~

Some time in the early morning hours the storm finally begins to calm.

By the time the sun fully rises it will be gone just as suddenly as it appeared.

And the village, just a bit tattered around the edges from the ferocity of the winds and the unforgiving pounding of the rain, will be washed clean once more.

But the damage left in the storm’s wake will be greater than they could have ever imagined it would be.

They just don’t know it yet.

Can not even begin to imagine what it is that they’ve lost.

What they’ve managed to drive away.

~~~  
Kakashi sleeps for eight hours straight,

He wakes up, showers, forces himself to eat something, and then does his normal morning training routine before he spends a few hours talking to Obito and the others.

Then, as he always does after an extended mission, he finds himself perched in a tree across from a familiar apartment building.

The light still burns in the window.

Book in hand, Kakashi settles down to wait.

A single look will be enough, just a glimpse to reassure him.

It’s more than Kakashi’s technically allowed.

It’s less than Naruto deserves.

It will _never_ be enough.

~~~

The day passes.

The light stays on.

There’s no sign of any kind of movement from Naruto’s apartment.

No sign of life passed the tattered curtains.

The ball of faint unease that’s been sitting in the pit of Kakashi’s stomach begins to grow.

~~~

Night falls.

Naruto, normally so loud and vibrant in everything he does, never shows.

Book long since abandoned, Kakashi’s hands bight deep into the bark of the tree as he tries to hold himself back from doing something _stupid_.

~~~

He fails.

~~~

As silent as a shadow, Kakashi settles down on the thin ledge of Naruto’s window.

It’s the work of a second to get it open, the broken lock almost mocking Kakashi somehow.

He slips inside and immediately goes still.

The apartment, small and raggedy, smelling of damp and rot in a way that makes Kakashi’s jaw clench to bite back a snarl, is _empty_.

Heart hammering in his chest, Kakashi ghosts his way around the single room opening cabinets and drawers as he goes, dread growing with everything he doesn’t find.

Naruto’s clothes, what little he actually has, are gone, his toys and keepsakes, all little more than bits of trash really, are nowhere to be found.

So is whatever food that should be in the apartment.

So are Naruto’s blanket and pillow.

Even that ridiculous little night cap Naruto always wears is missing.

All of it, everything that Naruto might actually call _his_ , is gone.

The apartment is completely _empty_.

Only shadows, half broken furniture, and the faint scent of sea-salt, sun-warm satsuma, and foxes remains.

Kakashi’s moving before he even has to think about it, hands flashing through familiar signs.

“Thought we had a week of rest before you had to be back in the field,” Pakkun grouses from his place at the head of the pack as the smoke cloud dissipates. “You owe us the good stuff for this you kn-”

“Pakkun,” Kakashi’s tone, sharp and barely restrained, slices through Pakkun’s good-natured complaining instantly.

“Kakashi?” Pakkun is instantly on alert as he finally looks around, nose working over time and eyes widening as he realizes where, exactly, they are. “I thought we weren’t …”

“The apartment’s empty, everything’s _gone_ ,” Kakashi cuts him off again, a shadow clone blurring into existence and heading out of the window without a word. Off to report to the Tower and raise the alarm. “Spread out. Find him.”

“Gotcha,” Pakkun nods sharply, the entire pack already breathing deeply to reacquaint themselves with a scent none of them have been allowed near in years now.

Pakkun throws himself out the window seconds later, Kakashi and the rest of the pack hot on his heels.

~~~

“ _Kakashi_ ,” there’s something almost agonized in Pakkun’s voice only a handful of hours later.

The pug doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking, not really. Kakashi can read it on his face as well as on the rest of the pack’s, on the expressions he’s spent a lifetime learning as well as his own.

“There has to be _something_ ,” Kakashi presses, just a shade off desperate.

All around him, whining and upset, the pack looks almost heartbroken.

“It’s the rain, Boss,” Guruko finally whispers, head hanging and tail curled down and in. “Never seen a storm do so much damage or wash everything so _clean_.”

Beside him Bull and Bisuke both whine in agreement.

“You’ve tracked through rain before,” Kakashi insists, something wild and unsteady beginning to rear its head inside of him. Dread and a cold sort of fear sinking their fangs in _deep_ to gnaw on his bones. “You’ve tracked through _worse_ than rain.”

The pack just whines a bit louder and turns their heads from him in shame.

“Not like this,” Pakkun tells Kakashi roughly, an echo of Guruko’s earlier statement. “There’s no trail to find, not even for us. Anything there might have been, it’s all been washed away now. Never seen anything like this.”

There’s a moment of stillness, a thick and heavy beat of silence.

“Kakashi,” Pakkun almost whispers, “ _we can’t find him_.”

Between one breath and the next, Kakashi disappears in a whirlwind of leaves.

Standing huddled together on the rooftop the pack trades uneasy glances.

“What do we do?” Urushi asks quietly, ears and fringe drooping.

“We search again,” Pakkun orders gruffly. “We search _everywhere_ as many times as it takes and we don’t stop until we find him.”

The pack barks in agreement even though all of them already know it’s useless.

There’s no scent trail, no prints, no hint or sign of the pup they should have been allowed to keep as one of their own.

As if he’s been spirited away somehow, Naruto is just _gone_ , all traces of the boy outside of his apartment wiped clean as if he was never there.

But despite that none of them argue. Instead they scatter, all of them headed in different directions but united by the same goal.

“We have to find him,” Pakkun whispers to himself even as he turns to move, nose already searching uselessly for even a hint of the scent he knows he won’t find. “ _We have to_.”

Pakkun doesn’t want to think about what might happen if they don’t.

~~~

Kakashi reappears in front of Sarutobi’s desk.

He doesn’t have to speak.

Sarutobi takes one look at him, sees the silent accusation, the unspoken rage and _fear_ , and curses, low and vicious.

~~~

ANBU flutter across the rooftops, feet whisper quiet and cloaks billowing out around them as they move from building to building.

In the distance Kakashi can hear the rough voice of Kuromaru as he and Inuzuka Tsume order the rest of their Clan to join the search.

The Police Force is out en masse as well, knocking on doors and slipping down alleyways.

Kakashi sees Yamanaka, Nara, and Hyūga moving through the village, sees chūnin and jōnin alike all out and _searching_.

Every available hand and all of the major powers of the village scrambling to find one boy as discreetly as possible.

On the streets below the civilians go about their daily lives, unaware of the frantic scrambling taking place around and above and below them.

Kakashi ignores them all as he darts across rooftops and flickers between buildings, senses open and all of his focus honed in on a single goal.

_Find Naruto._

~~~

But as the hours pass and day once again becomes night and then becomes morning, Kakashi is forced to face a horrible truth.

There is nothing left to find.

Naruto is _gone_.

~~~

“You said he was _safe_ ,” Kakashi grits the words out between clenched teeth, hands fisted at his sides and body straining towards the window without his consent. He doesn’t want to be here, in this office. He wants, _needs_ , to be out there looking.

His skin _itches_ just from being forced to sit still for this long when he could be out finding the one person in the entire village who should have _never_ been lost in the first place.

“He _was_ ,” Sarutobi insists, stress lines carved even deeper than normal in his face. “All reports indicated no hint towards any overt sort of threat to his safety. There’s been no whispers of a kidnapping or assassination. There’s been no word of _anything_.”

“ _Then where is he?_ ” Kakashi practically bites the words out, vicious and cutting in a way he’s never been towards Sarutobi, _his Hokage_ , before. “You set boundaries and drew lines and I followed them, we all have, because you ordered it, because you swore he would be _safe_. Even when so much of the village sneered and whispered and were cruel to him we _listened_. But now he’s _gone_.”

“We’ll find him,” Sarutobi’s reassurances ring hollow to Kakashi. “Every hand available has been mobilized and the village gates are shut. By nightfall there’ll be no part of Konoha left un-searched. We _will_ find Naruto.”

“This should have _never_ happened,” Kakashi points out mercilessly. “He should have been given into someone's care, not left alone like this, left to disappear or be _taken_. Minato-sensei and Kushina would be ashamed.”

Kakashi can’t bite the words back even if he wanted to.

Which he doesn’t.

“ _Do you think I don’t know that, Hatake?_ ” Sarutobi lunges to his feet, hands slamming down onto his desktop with surprising force.

The air in the office grows thick and heavy, practically snapping with tension.

And then, just as quickly as it had come, the violence and rage seems to melt out of Sarutobi.

“You’re not the only one who loved them, Kakashi.” Sarutobi practically whispers as he slumps back down into his chair. He looks even older now, looks even more worn. “You are not the only one who _cares_.”

For a long moment the silence stretches between them, thick and cutting.

“Where was his guard?” Kakashi finally questions, fingers digging into the window sill. “The ANBU assigned to his rotation? They should have seen _something_.”

“We ended the watch a few days after you left the village for your last mission,” Sarutobi admits gruffly, something like defeat already weighing down his shoulders. “The Council deemed it an unnecessary precaution and I agreed. Naruto’s heritage is still a secret even if his status as jinchūriki is not among the elder generations. He is seen daily in the village and attends the Academy on a regular basis now. The manpower of a guard on constant rotation could be better used elsewhere. Our ranks are still so low, Kakashi.”

“The Council decided or _Shimura Danzō_?” Kakashi asks more than a bit bitterly, that ugly snarling thing from before twisting to life in his chest once again as he sweeps the rest of Sarutobi’s statement aside.

 _‘Excuses'_ , some vicious, sharp tooth part of him snarls.

“Danzō would not dare,” Sarutobi denies the implications that Kakashi hasn’t bothered to actually speak.

The fact that the possibility doesn’t even have to be _spoken_ to be immediately acknowledged gives it even more weight.

“Have you even asked?” Kakashi presses, refusing to back down so easily. “Has he been questioned?”

Kakashi has been a shinobi for the majority of his life. He’s seen more than one dark secret lurking in the shadows of Konoha. And, no matter how much Sarutobi might protest the idea, they both know that Shimura would _absolutely_ dare.

Sarutobi says nothing and, as it all too often seems to be these days, his silence is all the answer that Kakashi needs.

Kakashi doesn’t stay long enough to hear Sarutobi’s next question, doesn’t stay long enough to humor his next argument or justification about what has happened.

Instead he slips back out the window without waiting to be officially dismissed.

He knows _exactly_ where he’s going to go looking next.

And nothing and no one is going to stop him.

Not this time.

~~~

Shimura Danzō is, Kakashi knows, not a man to be taken lightly.

The old war-hawk is _dangerous_.

It’s an open secret of sorts that Sarutobi has only allowed him to grow more and more powerful over the years since Minato-sensei’s death, even if no one is completely sure of just how far that power reaches.

There are rumors, whispers of whispers really, of _unsettling_ things done in his name and by his hand deep in the shadows of the village. Of children going missing, being bought or _taken_ or given in sacrifice to some greater secret ideal.

But despite those whispers and rumors nothing has ever been _proven_. Shimura has always been meticulously careful, has always managed to avoid being irreversibly incriminated. Sarutobi has always given him a certain degree of freedom and leeway, turning a blind eye in places where, years before, he would not have.

But if there’s one thing Shimura has always been adamant about, has openly advocated for, it's the fact that Naruto should have been raised in a different environment with a much _firmer_ hand. Shimura has always been clear as to his belief that Naruto’s status and abilities as both an Uzumaki and jinchūriki should have been trained and put into use as soon as possible.

Minato-sensei’s son reduced down to little more than a mindless weapon.

The perfect malleable shinobi, molded like clay beneath Shimura’s heavy hands.

Kakashi refuses to let that happen.

So with Naruto missing, with Kakashi’s ninken and the village’s best trackers all unable to find even a _trace_ of him outside of his rundown little apartment, it’s obvious where the next search should be concentrated.

Kakashi is simply … taking the initiative.

Shimura might try to hide, might try to trick and deceive him, but Kakashi has always been a creature of fangs and claws.

Has always been a _beast_ , slow to anger, deliberate in action, but ravenous at the core with veins filled up to the brim with brilliant white lightning.

He will run his prey to the ground and rip the answers he wants, _needs_ , out of him if he has to.

If Shimura has Naruto hidden away somewhere then Kakashi _will_ find out.

Even if he’s failed in the past, even if he’s been forced by his own soul crushing guilt and Sarutobi’s decree to keep his distance, there is nothing Kakashi would not do to protect what is precious to him.

Just like his father before him.

~~~

Kakashi finds Shimura in the garden of his private estate.

The man looks calm and relaxed where he’s drinking tea on the small pavilion set in the center of an admittedly gorgeous and sprawling koi pond.

“Hatake,” Shimura’s expression is genial and unassuming even with the fresh looking bandage wrapped around half of his face and covering his right eye. “What brings you to my home on today of all days? Little birds have whispered to me that the jinchūriki is ... _missing_. Should you not be out leading the search?”

Standing on the edge of the garden path, sandals perfectly aligned with the wood of the bridge leading to the pavilion, Kakashi keeps his eye on Shimura and his senses open.

“Where is he?” Kakashi asks the question point blank.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Shimura’s tone is bland, his expression abruptly empty. “You should be careful not to overstep yourself, _boy_.”

“Give him back,” Kakashi keeps his voice even.

“ _Tch_ ,” Shimura clicks his tongue sharply, expression twisting briefly in disgust. “You do not command me, Hatake.” 

“You have no right to him,” Kakashi holds himself loose but still, refusing to give away any sign of weakness.

“I have every right!” Shimura declares sharply. “Pathetic, you and Hiruzen both. So determined not to harness the jinchūriki’s power, to not use it as it should be used. For the betterment of Konoha as a whole.”

Shimura pauses, collects himself, and then almost seems to soften.

“Leave, Hatake,” Shimura says quietly. “Forget the boy. Go back to your duties and your grief.”

Kakashi stays silent and keeps one hand held loose at his sides even as he raises the other up to his face so he can push his headband up and out of the way.

Kakashi keeps his eye clamped firmly closed, keeps Obito’s gift shielded for the moment, but his meaning is clear.

His unspoken threat is obvious.

“I see,” Shimura finally nods, takes another calm sip of his tea, and then places the cup down on the table with a definitive sort of click. He presses himself up and onto his feet, one hand wrapped around the handle of the cane he’s never seen without these days.

He’s the picture of a battered, time worn shinobi. A man long past his prime with more stories left to tell than battles left to fight.

Kakashi isn’t fooled.

Old wolves bite the hardest, claw the deepest.

But it doesn’t matter.

Not really.

If push comes to kunai then Kakashi will do much worse than bite and claw.

“I have always appreciated your skill and dedication,” Shimura muses lightly as he moves to stand just on the other side of the bridge from Kakashi, his cane tapping out a light rhythm on the wood. “As I did your father before you. The Hatake Clan has always been an asset to Konoha.”

Kakashi says nothing, hands flexing against the leather of his gloves.

“Ah but then there’s that stubbornness,” Shimura huffs lightly in displeasure. “That same insistent need to cling to human ties that ultimately drove your father to his death. It is truly a shame that his legacy will end here today with the last of the Hatake driven to attack a respected elder out of grief and misplaced suspicions.”

Around the garden shinobi melt out of the shadows, draped in black cloaks and wearing unfamiliar white masks.

The tallest, standing just in front of Shimura, draws a wicked looking tanto from beneath their cloak and takes a single step forward.

Kakashi doesn’t hesitate.

He blurs into motion between heartbeats, body moving forward and hands lashing out with surgical precision.

When he comes to a stop he’s back where he started from, sandals perfectly aligned with the wood of the bridge.

In one hand he holds a wicked looking tanto. In the other a freshly severed arm.

The blank masked shinobi in front of Shimura hits the ground, down an arm and throat _gone_.

They’re dead long before they hit the ground, long before they ever fall.

They were dead the moment they drew their weapon, they just didn’t know it at the time.

Shimura doesn’t flinch, not even when the blood from the corpse in front of him begins to pool around his sandals.

“I liked that one,” Shimura says mildly.

His cane tap, tap, _taps_.

The shadows _lunge_.

Kakashi blurs to meet them.

~~~

Panting, Kakashi shifts his leg back, readjusts his balance, and keeps his feet.

A flick of a wrist clears the majority of the blood from his new tanto.

His left eye _aches_ , Obitio wailing in the back of his mind as the gift he’d given Kakashi slowly saps his chakra.

But he stays standing. He keeps his weapon in hand and his eyes locked on Shimura Danzō.

Kakashi can’t, won’t, falter. Not now, not here.

Not with so much at stake.

“It seems,” Shimura muses from across from him, “that I will have to handle this myself.”

Shimura raises a hand up to his face, tangles his thick fingers in the bandages there, and _pulls_.

Kakashi’s breath catches in his throat, his heart skips a beat and begins to pound out a rough and vicious sort of beat.

“ _Traitor_ ,” Kakashi hisses out, eyes locked on the Sharingan he _knows_ Shimura should not possess. Outside of the Uchiha Clan only Kakashi has been allowed the honor of carrying a Sharingan eye and the process had been long and drawn out and _known_.

“Never,” Shimura spits. “All I do, I do for the betterment of the village. ROOTs exist only to serve the tree. Now come Hatake, let us end this.”

Shimura _moves_ and Kakashi, bleeding but determined, blurs to meet him.

~~~

The garden is filled with the clashing of blades, with the roar of flames and the bite of chakra screaming to life and lashing out with intent to maim and kill.

And then …

There is only the chirping of a thousand birds.

~~~

Kakashi tilts his head back against the railing behind him and turns his face towards the sun.

He sits there, mind blank and body numb, for what seems like the longest time.

He doesn’t even flinch when someone alights, whisper quiet, onto the bridge just a few feet away from him.

“ _Kakashi_ ,” Sarutobi calls his name, something like horror in his voice. “What have you done?”

“He’s not here,” Kakashi keeps his eyes on the sky, on the drifting white clouds. “Naruto. He hadn’t found him yet either.”

“You’ve _murdered_ an Elder,” Sarutobi's voice is harsh and sharp. “This is treason.”

An almost tangible ripple of shock runs through the shinobi who’ve flittered into the garden behind him 

Finally Kakashi pulls his attention off of the too blue sky.

He rolls his head to the side just enough to see Sarutobi straight on, aware of how his mask, tattered and torn, is just barely hanging on.

For once Kakashi can’t find it in himself to care.

His wrist twists.

Shimura’s head lands just at the edge of the bridge and rolls to a stop right at Sarutobi’s feet.

The stolen Sharingan glares up at the world like an accusation, not yet completely faded with death.

Sarutobi’s indrawn breath is loud in the stark silence of the garden.

Kakashi turns his face back up towards the sky.

~~~

Kakashi wakes to the familiar and much hated scents and sounds of the hospital.

His chakra levels have been restored, his body doesn’t ache, and he’s surprisingly not restrained in any way.

Not that it would matter.

Basic physical restraints haven’t worked on Kakashi since he was eight years old. If they want to hold him in place with anything besides a seal they’ll have to kill him.

“How long?” Kakashi asks without opening his eyes.

“Three days,” Gai answers without any of his normal exuberance. “You attacked a nurse while trying to leave. They sedated you afterwards.”

“Have they found him?” Kakashi asks because it’s the only thing that really matters to him right now.

“No,” Gai’s almost whisper is solemn. “It’s been almost a full week and there’s been no sign. Some are beginning to think …”

“He’s not dead,” Kakashi discards the idea before Gai can even fully voice it. “The Kyūbi hasn’t reappeared and whoever took him … Naruto’s too valuable to kill.”

“I hope you’re right, Kakashi,” Gai sighs. “I truly do.”

~~~

The training log splinters beneath the force of Kakashi’s blow.

Chidori flickers out, the lightning dissipating.

Kakashi calls for it again despite the way his chakra coils _ache_.

He needs to be _stronger_.

Needs to be faster and better than ever before.

Because Naruto is out there somewhere. Kakashi knows he is.

He can feel it in his bones, in his soul.

Just as he’d told Gai, Kakashi knows that whoever took Naruto wouldn’t kill him.

As an Uzumaki and jinchūriki of the strongest bijū he was much too valuable.

So, Kakashi knows, one day he’s going to see Naruto again.

One day there will be a battle field and Naruto will more than likely be on the other side, the wrong side, of it.

Turned against his home, against the village his parents had died for, by the people who stole him away.

Against _Kakashi_.

So that means that Kakashi needs to be good enough, needs to be strong enough, to drag him back where he belongs.

Back home, back to Konoha.

Back to where Kakashi will _never_ look away from him again.

Will never allow himself to be cut off and kept from Naruto’s side ever again.

The training ground fills with the chirping of a thousand birds.

Kakashi lunges forwards.

When the time comes he _will_ be strong enough.

Or he’ll die trying.

~~~

_Here is the truth:_

The winds and the waters took a boy by the heart and taught him how to steal himself away.

The ocean holds him now, loves him, protects him.

It will not give him back.

No matter how desperately the hound may bay.

**Author's Note:**

> Come on home and scream at me while you check out the tag Whirlpool Calls Him Home AU for more information on this AU:
> 
> http://rayshippouuchiha.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Flowing Current--The Current Runs Deep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417983) by [SyoshoHiataki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyoshoHiataki/pseuds/SyoshoHiataki)




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